


Lullabies

by nidorina



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drabble, Gen, playing with style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:18:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nidorina/pseuds/nidorina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I sing anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lullabies

**Author's Note:**

> This was really just one big (tiny) style experiment. Inspired by [this](http://asofterhome.tumblr.com/post/7314021991).

There are plenty of reasons not to sing.

There is dying a thousand times over. There is a quest left incomplete in the end. There are delicately constructed pieces of robotics, art in steel and wires, being blown to smithereens. There is the ash they leave behind.

There are involuntary croaking noises.

There is a girl with spidery limbs and fingers and the boy trapped in her web. There are more webs yet, where the screams of the innocents are but a gentle melody during dinnertime.

There are broken hearts.

There is blood painting a splattered rainbow onto the walls and there are tears. There are so many tears. There is the diluted color spectrum they make.

There are the last times two matespirits old each others hands, there are moirails left in lonesome agony until they find the cold embrace of death too, there are final regrets that just barely leave as a choking whisper. There are more words that are never even said.

There are Horrorterors with thousands of tentacles that reach out and ensnare wrists and bodies, and with even more teeth than that.

There are doomed timelines and prophecies and self-proclaimed miracles and blood and tears and blood and tears and blood and tears and a full spectrum of rainbows on walls and hands and floors.

There are plenty of reasons not to sing.

There are dream bubbles all around me and new wings on my back that open behind me so delicately as if they belong to a dainty, perfect butterfly, and not a girl.

 

I sing anyway.


End file.
